


You Might Die Trying

by theskywasblue



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, M/M, Stolen Moments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-26
Updated: 2011-02-26
Packaged: 2017-10-15 23:14:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/165862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theskywasblue/pseuds/theskywasblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They are looking for answers</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Might Die Trying

"You have to admit," Dean rolled over, stretching languorously. His body was tinged head-to-toe pink from exertion, all his scars standing out in relief. "When we're good, we're _really fucking good_."

Castiel was reluctant to admit any such thing, regardless of its truth. He was content, at least for the moment, to enjoy the respite, to stretch out on scratchy sheets and feel his body - a vessel, yes, but still uniquely _his body_ more now at these moments than at any other time – loose-limbed and suffused with endorphins, close to Dean's warmth. There may not have been any anger between them now, but there had been not long ago, when Dean knocked him back against the door, wound his fist in Castiel’s tie – as if that might have been something that could keep him rooted to that spot if Castiel decided to leave – and snarled against the column of his throat _don’t you wing it outta here you son of a bitch. I asked for face time with you and I am damn well gonna get it on way or another_. But Castiel had not fought Dean when he easily could have; had not _winged out_ when it would have been an easy thing to do, no effort on his part at all.

He had wanted to stay, that was the truth, and he had wanted the excuse to do so. Dean had provided it, with skilled fingers, rough hands, and wet lips; with all the tools at his disposal.

Castiel had revelled in it, entirely shameless. He had allowed – no – he had _encouraged_ Dean to peel away his layers, pick apart his skin one carefully placed kiss, one sparked nerve ending at a time, because it was base, because it was profane, because it was _human_ and pleasurable and something that Castiel had missed so terribly that there were not even words to describe.

Moreover he had wanted it to happen because it was transient – Castiel’s presence there, in Bobby’s small, dishevelled guest bedroom at the end of the hall; Dean’s time in Bobby’s house, out of earshot from Sam and Bobby; Dean’s willingness to engage with Castiel in a physical manner that involved more affection than anger; even the physical pleasure itself – these were all things that would pass, that were passing, that had passed.

Nothing was indefinite, in God’s creation; even Castiel himself.

“Fighting with you is making me crazy, you know that?” Dean turned onto his side, smoothing a hand over Castiel’s stomach, fingertips trailing through the mess of sweat and semen there. “It’s like beating my head against a brick wall...or maybe like running headfirst into six feet of cement over and over again.”

“Then you must have some idea now of how you have been making me feel for several years now.”

“That’s harsh Cas,” Dean’s stubble-rough chin scraped over his shoulder, his breath was hot against the side of Castiel’s neck; and there was far too much to enjoy in all that, in the messy, animalistic thing they had done together. “I’m doing my level fucking best here.”

Castiel took a deep, unnecessary breath, “We are, both of us, doing our best.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Dean chuckled, brushing his lips against Castiel’s throat. It was not a sound of mirth, but the sound of a man too exhausted to do anything else but laugh in the face of his own troubles. Castiel believed he could sympathize. “We beat the fucking Devil, Cas. Wasn’t it supposed to get easier after that?”

“I don’t know.”

That was the trouble – whether for Dean, for his brothers in arms, or for himself – Castiel found answers as fleeting as everything else.

-End-


End file.
